“It showed a lot the last time,” said Sally.
“That one,” Billy said, “wasn’t Brad.”
Sally leaned closer. “Who was it?”
Billy shrugged. “This guy the bitch brought around. Fuck, could a been that guy who did the old man.”
“You mean Bea Preston had someone else beat her step-daughter?” Sally asked, writing rapidly.
“Who else?” Billy replied. “I guess the old man had decided he didn’t want to be the enforcer anymore.”
“What do you mean, the enforcer?” Sally said.
“They had a deal. Brad was one of those fathers who thought raising kids was the woman’s job. He was so busy, making money and all, he barely fuckin’ saw her. I mean, he pretty much left everything up to the wicked stepmother, where Charlie was concerned.”
“But sometimes, of course, he had to do his duty, as a father,” Sally prompted.
“Oh yeah. Yeah. Bea would tell Brad when Charlie was—what did they call it—breaking the Fifth Commandment. The one about dishonoring thy father and mother. Then Brad would, as they said, chastise her. It was pretty rough.”
Sally tried to think how to ask the question. “Was Bea present for those, um, chastisements?”
Billy shook his head. “She made it a point not to be there. But you know what? I think old Bea liked knowing he was doing it, a whole lot. What she didn’t like was seeing how sorry he’d be about it. According to Charlie, Brad always cried afterward. And then he’d buy her something expensive to try to make up for it. The problem was, Charlie never knew when it was coming. Sometimes it seemed like he beat her for no reason at all.”
Keep it together, Sal. Limited time, lots of questions. But she was quaking inside, on the verge of exploding. “What a horror” was all she said.
He looked back, resolute. “Oh yeah. And that wasn’t even the worst of it, because after the beatings, they’d decide that they couldn’t handle her anymore and ship her off to the crazy house. But you know what? Charlie Preston’s made of iron. I mean, that girl is so fuckin’ strong, you wouldn’t believe it. Think about it. If she wasn’t a fuckin’ brick house, she’d be dead by now.”
Yes. She would. Sally prayed that she wasn’t, took a breath, asked another question. “Was Brad your landlord at that place you all got evicted?”
“Yeah,” said Billy. “Landlords don’t exactly love my record. The other guys weren’t in any better position. Charlie hooked us up.”
“And when he rented her that apartment, was that one of those make-up presents?”
Billy cocked his head, thinking. It made him look very, very young. “Yeah. She said he wanted to prove to her that he trusted her. That’s what the Miata was about too.”
“I can see the car,” said Sally. “Parents like to bribe their kids with cars. But what about the apartment? It seems to me he was begging for her to screw up.”
“I don’t know. I got the impression he hadn’t owned the building that long. From what she said, he was new in the real estate game. Charlie said the stepmother was really ticked at him for renting it to her.”
“That doesn’t sound very motherly.”
He laughed again, this time without a trace of mirth. “You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”
“Was he planning to evict you?” she asked.
“Charlie said he’d promised not to. But how do I know? All’s I know is, after he got killed, the management company kicked us out. End of story.”
“Okay,” said Sally, writing rapidly, then looking up and once again into his eyes. “Do you have any idea where Bea might have taken Charlie now? Would she take her back to wherever they treated her before, for instance?”
“Treatment!” Billy exclaimed. “Yeah, right. Like getting thrown in a hole and shot full of elephant tranqs is some kind of fuckin’ treatment. They didn’t give a flying fuck about treating her. Charlie’s got some problems. Don’t we all? But whatever they were doing, it wasn’t to make her better. It was just to get her the hell out of the way or something. Can you believe she didn’t just off herself when she was in there? Shit, who wouldn’t?” he said. “Hey—fuckin’ jail’s better than that.”
Sally swallowed hard. “I heard that Brad never went to see her in those places,” she said.
“That place,” Billy corrected. “According to Charlie, after the first time, when she was nine years old and they sent her to the hospital in Denver and did all kinds of tests on her, it was always the same place. Shelter Clinic. How do you like that? Some shelter! And the same doctor, bald dude, thick glasses. She’d have nightmares about him. Can’t remember his name. Same fuckin’ drugs. Fancy reception area and all, but once you’re inside, BAM, they hit you with the needle and next thing you know, you’re in the hole. You don’t see daylight again until it’s time to let you out. And no. Daddy never went to visit.”
He looked down. Drew figure eights on the counter with his fingertip. “You know what kills me? He did all that shit to her, and she still loved him to his dying day. Probably still does.”
“Don’t we all love our parents, in spite of everything? Don’t you?” Sally asked.
Billy’s warm eyes went cold. “This isn’t about me.”
“Sorry,” said Sally.
“And she doesn’t love Bea, I’ll tell you that. The bitch’d come get her out of the clinic, or whatever it was, and she’d talk all about how she hoped Charlie had finally forsaken her wicked ways, and all shit like that. It’s a fuckin’ miracle Charlie never killed her!”
Sally could see his point. “But it’s strange. Brad Preston obviously had misgivings about the way he was treating his daughter. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not letting him off the hook. But it does sound as if he let Bea call a lot of the shots. As if he had no clue how to be a father.”
“Like that’s some big news,” said Billy. “You think a lot of fathers do?”
Sally smiled, very sadly. “Actually, I think a lot of fathers do. And it’s really, really tragic when they don’t.”
Billy bit his lip. It took him a moment to control his breathing. “Yeah. Well. I don’t know all that much about fathers. But you know what Charlie said? She said she thought he might have been about to change, right there at the end. It wasn’t just that he decided to rent her the apartment. He told her that he’d begun to think they’d made some mistakes with her upbringing. He told her that it was time they turned over a new leaf.”
“And what did you think about that?” Sally asked.
Billy Reno didn’t look young and innocent now. He looked blank and cynical and sneering. “He’d said all that stuff before. People will say all kinds of shit. How much do you think anybody ever really changes?” he said.
“I think,” said Sally, “that nobody is only one person. I think everybody has all kinds of people inside them, and as we live our lives, different people come out, depending on what happens to us, what we learn, what we regret, what we want. Who we love.”
And now Billy looked like he was about to cry.
“Well, I love Charlie Preston.” He began to say more. The receiver went dead. A guard appeared behind him, gestured for him to get up and move out.
No sound now. But as he rose, and the guard took him by the arm to lead him away, Billy looked over his shoulder and mouthed words plain for Sally to see. “I love her,” he said into the silence. “Find her. Find her now.”
Chapter 22
The Country Club
She walked out of the jail back across the parking lot, unlocked her car, and drove around for fifteen minutes, utterly numb, completely blank.
Then she pulled into a convenience store parking lot, shut off the engine, put her head down on the steering wheel, and let the pain roar through her. When that was over, she looked up, shook her head, and gave herself a stern lecture.
Okay. So she’d felt sorry for the guy. She’d liked him, in fact, found him beguiling, orange jail jumpsuit, skin ink, potty mouth, and all. She’d found herself believing eve
ry word he said.
But Billy Reno was, after all, an incorrigible thief, a pathological criminal, a con artist. Who’d be better at gaming her?
She could think of one person. Billy, after all, had more of Dave Haggerty in him than a pretty smile. And now fury began to smolder. Dave Haggerty. Doing a number on her all along, it seemed. And now she thought she had some idea why.
Unlikely intimacies. Strange connections. Odd estrangements. People who seemed to have no relation to one another, densely entangled.
She turned the key in the ignition. The Mustang came to life. She headed straight for the offices of Haggerty, Hebard, and Bright.
The law firm had two floors of efficient, cozy space in a building that had been a hotel, back at the turn of the twentieth century, catering to passengers moving through on the Union Pacific. The building façade was red brick and Victorian gingerbread, the waiting room deep carpet and comfortable chairs. The receptionist, in Saturday casual jeans and sweater, told Sally that Mr. Haggerty was in a meeting. Sally told the receptionist that she really needed to talk to Mr. Haggerty, and that she’d just come from seeing one of his clients in the jail. That did get the woman’s attention. Sally added that the matter really couldn’t wait, but she would. She was getting used to sitting around in waiting rooms, amusing herself with magazines she’d never otherwise read. She picked up a brand-new issue of Prevention, thinking that she probably needed to start subscribing. If there was one thing Sally Alder needed help with, it was prevention.
Less than five minutes later, she was told that Mr. Haggerty would see her.
The man must specialize in speed meetings.
At least he met her eyes when she walked in, glaring. “Hi, Dave,” she said, sitting down in the wingback chair across from his desk, tossing her shoulder bag on the floor. “Looks like you’ve got more in common with Brad Preston than just being a hotshot lawyer. Are you proud of the job you’ve done as a father?”
“Now that you mention it,” he said, “no. No. I’m not.”
“And of course, Bea knows, doesn’t she? Did she guess from the resemblance? Or maybe God told her?”
Haggerty shook his head. “No. Billy’s mother told her. Bea, of course, is very big on traditional families. When she sees a single mother in the congregation, she does everything she can to find out who the father is. Beatrice Preston’s a charismatic woman. She can be very persuasive.”
“And then what happens? She lets the old runaway daddy know that he can demonstrate his paternal virtue by giving a contribution to the Traditional Family Fund?”
“Something like that,” Haggerty admitted, now avoiding Sally’s gaze.
“Does Charlie know about you and Billy?” Sally asked.
“I can’t say. It’s not common knowledge. We don’t exactly run in the same circles. I gave Billy’s mother plenty of incentive to keep it quiet.”
“Cash incentives,” Sally said.
“Yes. Which she needed very badly, given her difficulties with staying employed. She claimed Bea was the only person she ever told. Something about seeking forgiveness and saving her soul.”
Could Bea Preston really be that big a hypocrite? Sally had nothing per se against Christian devotion. Bishop Tutu was a Christian. Bruce Cockburn was a Christian. William Sloane Coffin was her favorite Christian.
What kind of person used God as a reason to prey on the weak?
“Do you pay Billy too?” Sally asked.
“I would, if he’d take it. But he won’t. He’s got his own kind of scruples. The only thing he’ll let me do is help when he has problems with the law, which seems to be happening with increasing frequency. It might surprise you, but he doesn’t want people knowing he’s my kid, any more than I do. He blames me for his mother’s problems.” Haggerty pursed his lips.
Sally was almost sympathetic. Almost. “Did you know what the Prestons were doing to Charlie?” Sally asked. “Could you possibly have been that callous?”
“I’m not proud of this, Sally. But no. I didn’t know until Billy was arrested. He doesn’t exactly confide in me.”
“But you knew Brad and Bea. You knew they had a troubled daughter. Didn’t you guess?”
“It wasn’t my business to guess. I’ve had plenty on my plate without getting involved in that sort of stuff. I’ve tried to be a good citizen, support the right causes, help where I can.”
“And you’ve stayed out of politics. Boy, I can just imagine what it would have been like for you and Brad to run against each other for Congress. Talk about dueling skeletons in the closet!”
“Please, Sally. I did what I could. Brad’s murder opened up a lot of doors I’ve tried to keep closed.”
She stood up, put her hands on his desk, leaned in close. “And you’ve got plenty of ways of doing that, right? I mean, just consider the way you’ve ‘misdirected’ me— everything from cash bribes for my center to crass come-ons. It makes a woman wonder who else you’ve been jamming and scamming, Dave. You are a piece of work, you know that? You’ve even been having me tailed, haven’t you? Those pictures actually did come from you—you even went to the trouble to get whoever you hired to take a picture of you with me! You harassed my boyfriend! You fried my fucking hard disk!”
“Didn’t fry it very hard. I knew you’d get it fixed. It was for your own good anyway. I do regret wasting police time, but hey, those guys are good at their job, and I doubt they’d be too pissed at me for trying to pull you off this thing. It really is up to the sheriff to find out who killed Brad Preston, right, Sally? And no, I don’t think Charlie and Billy did it. I’m a pretty good defense lawyer. I figured I could take care of them myself.”
“But then Charlie freaked out, and Bea took her away, and somebody came into my house and shot up my god-damn bathroom door! Was that part of your plan too, Dave?”
“No. I swear, I had nothing to do with that. And to be honest, Sally, I never had a very good plan. I was just, well, reacting to circumstances. Improvising.”
“Improvising. Great. You son of a bitch. Your son’s in jail, charged with murder, and Charlotte Preston may be dead. Don’t you think it’s time to come clean? Give me one reason why I shouldn’t call Dickie Langham right this minute.” She leaned over, dug in her shoulder bag, pulled out her cell phone, and brandished it like a weapon.
“Main reason: You wouldn’t be telling him much of anything he doesn’t already know.”
“He knows about you and Billy?” she asked.
“Yes. And he knows that Bea’s been squeezing me. He even questioned her about it. She claimed to know nothing about Billy’s and my relationship, and to be shocked and insulted at the idea that I’d accused her of blackmail, although she did think that I’d be better off owning up to my sins rather than deceiving myself that I could hide from the All-Seeing-All-Knowing. I’m guessing that she’ll go public with it pretty soon. I’ll deal with that when I have to. Makes me wish I’d never given her a cent,” he added ruefully.
“Does the sheriff know that you had me followed, hacked my computer, and sent Hawk and me harassing photos?” Sally was aghast.
“Okay, maybe he doesn’t know everything,” Haggerty acknowledged. “Give me five minutes,” he said. “There are a few things you ought to know first. I owe you that much.”
She stared at her phone. Made a decision, snapped the phone shut, and sat down again. “Talk,” she said.
“Okay. In my own defense, let me say that I first started having you followed because Billy asked me to keep an eye on you. Charlie was, as you’ve heard, having some problems down in Colorado, and he wanted to know what you were up to, without tailing you himself. It started out pretty informally. I took the pictures at the reception myself.”
That really gave Sally the creeps.
“But Billy does things on impulse too. That morning Sheriff Langham came to your house, before the demonstration,” said Haggerty, “I had some things I wanted to ask Billy about. I called him and woke him up, a
nd on the way to my office, he happened to drive by your place and see the sheriff’s truck parked out front. He freaked. That was when we got serious about surveillance. I called a guy I know.”
“Naturally you’d know a guy,” said Sally.
“Any good criminal lawyer does,” Haggerty replied. “I still don’t get it. Why would Billy worry about me?” Sally asked.
“I don’t think you or I can begin to understand how his mind works, Sally,” Haggerty pointed out. “And Billy doesn’t particularly care about anything but helping Charlie, which he’s trying very hard to do, in his own way. Which was why I was right on the scene the day they got evicted, and which is what led me to some very interesting information, in connection with helping them fight the eviction and the damage claims.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Sally said. “If Brad Preston was the owner of the building, and he was no longer living, who’d be doing the suing and collecting the damages? In other words, who owned the building at the time of the eviction? That information would have been in his will, right? But it wouldn’t have been probated yet, would it?”
“Not even close,” Haggerty said. “Not only not probated, but contested. You wouldn’t believe how many lawyers don’t have their own affairs in order. I’d never have pegged Brad as the kind of guy who’d let things slide, but hey—we never really know anybody, do we?”
Sally glared. She wasn’t about to let Haggerty cajole her. The lying bastard.
“Anyhow, Brad didn’t practice what he preached. He’d made a will right when he first married Bea, and then never got around to updating it. And it was what you might call an unbelievably blunt legal instrument. For reasons I’ll never understand, he simply stipulated that everything he had be split right down the middle between his wife and his daughter. Bea was to act as guardian and trustee until Charlie came of age. If that will were enforced, of course, Charlie, being of age now, would have half interest in the building—she’d be suing herself!”
“Good grief. That’s the kind of situation that must have you lawyers licking your chops and phoning your Porsche dealers,” said Sally. “I assume Bea’s contesting.”
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